


Quiche Isn't Gay

by toomuchplor



Category: Glee
Genre: Bisexuality, First Kiss, M/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic coda for "Grilled Cheezus" (2x03).  Finn decides to continue the Friday night dinner tradition at the Hummel household.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiche Isn't Gay

Finn is standing on the threshold with two overflowing paper sacks of groceries, containing their bulk easily within the lanky circles of his arms. His hair seems to be heading due south today. His cheeks are little pinker than usual from the brisk October air.

"What do you want?" asks Kurt, folding his arms over his chest, blocking Finn's way.

"I have some, uh, groceries," says Finn, shifting the bags in his arms. "They're for you."

"Yeah," says Kurt, "I got that. Why are you bringing me groceries?"

"You gotta eat," says Finn, obviously baffled, and okay. Kurt's seen Finn pack away meals on many occasions, and probably anyone who values food to that extent doesn't really understand what it means to lose your appetite.

"Is this some ploy to get into the house so you can profess Jesus as your personal savior?" asks Kurt with narrowed eyes.

Finn's cheeks go a little redder yet. "Kurt, come on, man." One of the bags slips a little, and Finn brings up a knee to balance it out. "It's just food. Can I bring it in?"

Kurt hesitates, mostly for show, and then steps back to let Finn in. "I have food," he says. "There's lots of food here."

"Yeah," says Finn, "but it's Friday, right? Can't eat alone on Fridays." He leads the way into the Hummels' small kitchen and dumps the bags on the counter. "My mom's at the hospital with your dad tonight, so I thought maybe we'd do the family dinner here, just us."

Kurt finds himself edging back against one of the counters, away from Finn's warm overgrown puppyish presence. He doesn't know what it is, that Finn can be manageable at school, during glee practice, in big groups, but here in Kurt's house Finn is everywhere, he's tall and glowing and overwhelming. Sometimes it's all too easy to remember that Finn's dad was a war hero, a big strapping soldier with Finn's square jaw and radiant masculinity. "So, what?" says Kurt. "Are you cooking?"

"Yeah," says Finn. "Um, but I kind of only know how to make like two things." He pulls a loaf of bread out of one bag, a block of cheddar, a tub of margarine. "You don't have a George Foreman grill, do you?" he asks.

"We're not eating greasy grilled cheese sandwiches," Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "What else do you have? We might as well take this opportunity to expand your culinary palate."

Finn unpacks the bags, and pickings are slim: Finn's mostly brought packaged and prepared foods. Still, he did bring a bag of salad, and there's enough fresh food in Kurt's fridge that they can knock together a decent quiche using the eggs Finn brought.

"Quiche?" says Finn, mistrustful, or maybe just confused.

"I have some frozen pie crusts," says Kurt. "The filling isn't too tricky."

"Dude," says Finn. "Quiche?"

"You sound like Puck," says Kurt, raising an eyebrow. "Or is this evening going to end with me getting stuffed into my own garbage can?"

"Kurt," says Finn, "hey. Not me, man. I wouldn't – I mean, I –"

"I'm kidding," says Kurt, though he wasn't really kidding that much. "Here, you chop up the onions and peppers, I'll get started on the cheese."

"Isn't there, like, a ton of cholesterol in this stuff?" asks Finn, when Kurt pours the egg mixture over the crust and fillings.

"My dad's in the hospital," says Kurt. "Sometimes I deserve a little break." He strokes his face, grimacing. "I'll probably pay for it in blemishes next week, but whatever."

Once the quiche is in the oven, there's not much to do or say. They put away Finn's groceries and talk idly about glee, avoiding any discussion of the religious furor of the past week, or of Kurt's father. Finn's knowledge of musical theatre is depressingly lacking, especially given that he's dating the queen of Broadway these days, so Kurt drags him down to the basement and plays him the best songs from some more contemporary shows: The Last 5 Years, Spring Awakening, Avenue Q.

"Sounds like real music," says Finn, obviously surprised. "I mean, it doesn't sound as, um."

"Gay?" suggests Kurt dryly, not knowing why he's always trying to pick a fight with Finn nowadays, only knowing that it's probably either that or do something horribly embarrassing like try to kiss him.

"That's not what," says Finn, miserably, and stops himself. He knots his fingers and then looks up at Kurt, the little jaw muscles in front of his ears flickering with uncertainty. "I don't use that word anymore," he says, firmly. "Not that way."

Kurt wants to smirk and scoff, but he's pinned by Finn's liquid black eyes, his stupid annoying devastating earnestness. "I know," says Kurt, voice a little dry. "I'm sorry. I know."

Finn bites his lower lip and holds his gaze steady, and for a minute Kurt is totally sure that Finn is about to say something intense and overwhelming, something about loving Kurt like a brother or about Kurt's dad being really important to him, or something, something that's going to make Kurt want to cry or laugh hysterically, but then Finn says, in all seriousness, "How long does quiche take to cook, anyway? I'm totally starving."

Kurt giggles helplessly with surprise, and Finn grins back, though he clearly doesn't know what he's done to win Kurt's approval. "It's another half hour at least," says Kurt. "Why don't you go and get those chips you brought?"

"It'll spoil our dinner," says Finn, wide-eyed.

"Nothing on earth could spoil your appetite," says Kurt. "I'm okay to wait, but I don't want you to pass out from low blood sugar. There's been enough medical drama this week."

"Are you sure?" says Finn. "I still totally want to eat your quiche thing."

"Go," says Kurt, smiling indulgently, and Finn bounds up and thumps up the stairs, returning with the bag already opened, crunching on a mouthful of chips.

They sprawl on the floor, Finn in a loose puddle of long limbs and Kurt a little more decorously, while Kurt continues his tour of music Finn should know. Finn is surprisingly attentive and interested – Kurt knows he can kind of go on when it comes to this stuff – and it's a pleasant reminder that Finn might like football, but he _loves_ music.

When the oven timer sounds, they go back upstairs and busy themselves setting the table and getting the salad out. It's like every Friday dinner with Burt, except of course Burt isn't there. Finn's presence is weirdly comforting.

"You can't drink that," says Finn, scandalized, when Kurt pulls out a couple of beers from the fridge.

"I'd prefer a nice Chardonnay to go with this," says Kurt, pretending not to get it, "but my dad's wine cellar leaves something to be desired." Finn blinks a few times, and Kurt can't tell if he's more alarmed that Kurt's offering him beer or that Kurt himself is willing to drink beer at all.

"Well," says Finn. "Are we gonna get in trouble?"

"If my dad remembers how many beers he had in the fridge by the time he gets back from the hospital," says Kurt, crisply, "I'll deal with it then." He pops the tabs on the cans and hands one to Finn. "Don't tell me you've never had a drink," he says.

Finn shoots Kurt a sheepish grin and takes a sip.

"That's what I thought," says Kurt, smiling back helplessly.

They eat, Kurt more slowly, Finn inhaling the quiche and barely pausing to voice his obvious approval. Afterwards, they load up the dishwasher and wipe down the counters and then Finn is sticking his hands in his jeans pockets and looking a little awkward.

"If you have a date with Rachel, you should go," says Kurt, meaning it. He might not be over this stupid crush on Finn but he likes to think he's bought into the reality of the situation a bit more nowadays.

"No," says Finn. "Actually, we don't, uh. Have any plans." He tucks his elbows in to his sides, averting his eyes. "We could watch a movie?"

"Really?" says Kurt.

"Yeah," says Finn. "Yeah, let's watch a movie."

They argue for a while over what movie to watch – Kurt's lobbying to stick with the theme and watch _Brigadoon_ or maybe _My Fair Lady_ , and Finn wants to use the pay-per-view to watch an action movie or thriller – but they compromise on _Rent_ , which is recent enough to satisfy Finn and involves enough singing to keep Kurt happy.

"It's not really a great adaptation," says Kurt, "but the music is great, and you're going to love Taye Diggs."

"Is she hot?" asks Finn.

"Totally hot," says Kurt, not bothering to correct Finn on the gender. They settle down on the couch, Finn taking far more than his fair share of the room with his long legs splayed every which way.

Finn squirms throughout the first half of the movie and then abruptly seems to get caught up in the plot and settles down, finishing off his second beer and the bag of chips in silence. Kurt, for his part, has seen the movie too often to be entirely focused on the action, and he amuses himself by watching Finn watch the movie. "This is a wicked song," says Finn during Seasons of Love, at the mid-point of the movie. "We should bring this to Mr. Schuester."

"Actually," says Kurt, surprised that they agree on something, "it would be really good, you're right."

"That Maureen chick looks like Rachel's mom," says Finn.

"Idina Menzel? If you say so," scoffs Kurt.

"I could rock that solo," says Finn, then adds, modestly, "or probably Puck could do it."

"You could rock it," Kurt agrees, smiling.

The credits roll and Finn stretches and grunts and wriggles for about three minutes, like he's just run a marathon instead of sitting through a movie. "That was good, actually," he says, beaming.

"Glad you liked it," Kurt says, overlooking the note of unflattering surprise in Finn's voice.

"Um," says Finn, and suddenly goes pinker than usual, "hey, can I?" and he leans in and kisses Kurt, a little off-center, but definitely aiming for his mouth.

Kurt goes rigid with shock and utterly fails to savor the one-second kiss.

"Sorry," says Finn. "Um. I guess I'm kind of a cheap drunk."

This is patently untrue: Finn is a giant guy, and mostly muscle besides, and two light beers are hardly going to knock him on his ass and make him suddenly bicurious. Kurt is still in the throes of shock, however, and is utterly unable to articulate any of this.

"I shouldn't have done that," says Finn. "Only, I guess I wanted to know what it was like."

Kurt tries to make a sound, but can't.

Finn wrings his hands, not nearly as distraught as Kurt. "I kind of liked it, though," he says. "Do you think maybe I'm gay? Everyone is always saying if you're kind of nervous around gay people it's because you're gay too. I don't feel that gay. I mean, I really like boobs, too."

Kurt clears his throat, unable to figure out if he's more delighted or upset at this moment. "Uh," he manages, and clears his throat again, "there's such a thing as being bisexual?"

"Oh," says Finn, "right." And he _beams_ at Kurt, obviously happy to have a good explanation. "Okay, I know I'm dating Rachel, and I shouldn't be doing this, but – um. Would you mind if I just"—and he leans in and kisses Kurt again, this time holding Kurt's jaw steady in his huge warm hand, and Kurt is ready this time, ready as he'll ever be, and he kisses Finn back, closed-mouthed and curious.

"Yeah," says Finn, drawing back some seconds later, brows furrowed but mouth quirked. "Yeah, I definitely liked that."

"I'm not your experiment," says Kurt, or some unwelcome part of his brain does.

Finn's slight smile drops away, and so does his amazing warm hand. "I know," he says. "Sorry, I'm screwing this up."

"Or, I guess I could be your experiment, actually," Kurt offers hastily, less rational now that Finn's not touching him anymore.

"Yeah?" says Finn. "I mean, nothing really weird – I just wanted to kiss you a little more."

"Oh," says Kurt, breathily, "okay."

"That's not why I came tonight," Finn adds, anxious to be clear on this point. "I came, like I said, just to have dinner and keep you company."

"Yeah, okay," says Kurt, not really caring. "Hey. I thought you wanted to"—and he takes the initiative, leaning in and kissing Finn's mouth, gently opening him up, not really knowing what the hell he was doing other than wanting to taste Finn, the slightly beery and weirdly sexy taste of Finn's mouth. Finn makes a small sound, of interest or maybe protest, but he kisses back, tentatively poking his tongue into Kurt's mouth, getting his hand on the back of Kurt's neck, taking charge again.

And okay, Kurt knows that Finn's done a bit of kissing before – everyone's seen him and Rachel suck face, and he and Quinn must have been up to something a bit more serious with all the baby drama last year – but Finn seems kind of sweetly inexperienced now in this moment, tentative and occasionally a little too stiff. It takes a couple of minutes before Finn abruptly relaxes into it and things get a lot simpler at that point. Kurt brushes his fingers along the faint stubble on the underside of Finn's jaw, the fine soft hair at the nape of his neck, the tender skin behind his ears – all the places that Finn is vulnerable and sweet – but he goes no further, restricting himself to kissing Finn's wide expressive mouth.

"Wow," says Finn, drawing back at last, a little shaky, breathless. "Um. We'd better stop there."

"Yeah," says Kurt, not wanting to stop, not ever.

"I mean, I should be going," says Finn, scrubbing his hands through his hair, then down the length of his thighs. "But, um. That was."

"Yes?" says Kurt, even as he winces at the embarrassing eagerness in his voice.

"That was totally confusing," admits Finn. "I guess I need to, um. Work this one out a little more."

Kurt looks at Finn's kiss-bruised mouth, the red tips of his ears. "Okay," Kurt says, trying for a casual tone.

"I might need to work it out with you again," says Finn, with a shy smile.

"I might be amenable," says Kurt, and Finn's face goes lopsided with bafflement, and Kurt huffs a laugh before translating. "I might be okay with that."

"Okay," says Finn, and dives in for a last kiss. "Oh, man."

Kurt walks Finn back up the stairs and out to the front door, every step becoming more and more awkward as they encounter the outside world and ordinary life again. "Thanks for dinner," says Kurt. "Sorry I was kind of an ass about it at first."

"Hey," says Finn, and spreads his hands wide. "I have been way more of an ass to you, dude. I mean, in the past."

"True," says Kurt, wishing he could force away the weird happy smile that keeps surfacing on his lips. "Maybe we should call a truce?"

"Truce," agrees Finn, and trips over the hall rug, catches himself a second later. "Yeah. So – see you Monday?"

"Sure," says Kurt, and holds the screen door open while Finn sort of bumbles his way onto the stoop.

"Or at the hospital," Finn says. "Maybe there."

"Okay," says Kurt, and here comes the stupid smile again.

"Yeah," says Finn, apparently suffering from the same problem.

"Goodnight," says Kurt, and goes inside so he doesn't have to watch Finn get into his car and drive away. He leans against the wall just inside the door and exhales slowly, shakily. "Shit," Kurt says, heartfelt.


End file.
